Harvest of Trials
by treeson
Summary: "Do you want to become a great saint? Ask God to send you many sufferings." - Saint Ignatius of Loyola. Part of VVerse after Done, Three Times Done


"You brilliant, gorgeous woman."

Hermione, eyes closed, smiled into her pillow. Sam's breath on her neck, his words interrupted with light kisses, felt as good as the sun flowing through her bedroom window and pooling on the bed. She felt like a great, pampered cat and was ready to purr for Sam.

"Intelligent enough to find that nest of big bad vampires."

Waking up next to your boyfriend after a long two weeks without seeing him was one thing. Listening to his adoration upon waking was quite another kettle, one that Hermione would not mind making a part of her morning routine.

Eyes still closed, Hermione said, "_Large_ nest of big bad vampires."

Smiling against her shoulder, his hand tickled her hipbone under the sheets. "Quite large," he agreed. "Don't know how we would have managed without you."

"Mm." Hermione tilted her head to nuzzle against his cheek. "Poorly. Very poorly, I imagine."

He pressed a kiss to her cheekbone. His voice like syrup, she relaxed into it, her bones sluggish as the sun continues to rise. "And what else do you imagine?"

"I imagine that is not a gun pressed against my bum," she said. She stretched out her legs, groaning as the cramps that threatened her joints eased into pleasure. It had nothing to do with Sam. She didn't even mean to press her bum more fully into his erection, or rub against it as she settled back into her original spot.

Sam moved a strand of her curls to kiss her shoulder. "You think I'm going to fall for a tease like that?" She laughed, and didn't imagine him pressing against her again. "I'm appalled, Hermione, _appalled_."

Her lips twitched. The fog of sleep was beginning to lift, but her eyelids were still too heavy to lift open.

"But aroused," Hermione murmured. He thrust lightly against her, his fingers tickling the skin beneath her belly button. His hand dipped lower, warmth spreading down her chest as he ignited her arousal, and then eliciting a soft gasp from Hermione as the pads of his rough fingers dragged across her lower lips.

"No," Sam said, and she brought her attention to his lips as he nibbled on her neck. "No, I think you're mistaken."

"Maybe," she sighed, her hips rocking in tune with his hand. "But you know there's a low chance of me admitting my mistake… without encouragement."

And, oh boy, was that morning full of encouragement. Sam gave her so much encouragement she was downright _contrite _all the rest of the day.

*

"So…" Sam began, as she curled against him with _Court Harem: The Beginning_ in a pause between reading interesting passages to him. She glanced up and, seeing his shuttered face, closed the paperback and threw it on the bed behind him.

"Yes?"

"We didn't really get to talk about it when we were hunting those vamps, but have you found out anything about Dean's… situation?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. I'm sorry, Sam. Either my contacts are _very _good at playing ignorant or there's no information to be had." She had to pull her gaze from his—it hurt to see him so despairing.

He placed his finger under her chin and gently made her look him in the eyes. "Don't. You're doing the best you can. And Gabriel?"

"Don't what? I _want _to help Dean. He's my friend. And your brother. Even if he does want to murder me half the time. And no, Gabriel either."

He _tsked._"No, he doesn't."

"Maybe not," she admitted. "But since… He has his reasons."

They laid in silence. Hermione didn't like to think about that night. About Bobby going for the wood for the pyre. About Dean's face. About the comfortless night sky.

Twisting the ends of her hair around his thumb, Sam broke the silence minutes later. "I forgot to tell you about this, well…"

She raised her eyebrows at him when he hesitated, his lips pulled into an uncertain frown. "Mm? Did you find out something else when we were in Texas?"

"No," Sam said, and the uncertainty turned to resolve, "but I met a demon who I think wants to help me. Well, us."

_Me,_ Hermione noted. "A demon? That's dangerous."

"I know, I know," he rushed to assure her, and sat up. He ran his hand through his shaggy hair. Hermione sat up on her forearm, pulling the covers up over her chest. The headboard thumped against the wall as he leaned on it.

"I just…" Face pained, he said, "I have to try everything. If we can kill this demon who's going to take Dean—"

"It won't matter," Hermione interrupted. "He didn't make a contract with one demon. It's _Hell._ I'm no expert, but demon contracts don't care about the executor, just the outcome."

"Listen. Ruby—"

"Ruby, the _demon_?"

"Ruby says that if we can kill Lilith, it might stop them from coming after Dean, Give us more time to find a solution."

Hermione let the cover fall. She got on her knees, turning to Sam and reaching out to touch his thighs. "Sam," she said, searching his eyes, fear in her heart. This felt like Griphook all over again. Her heart and mind said so. "Sam, how can you be sure she's not playing with you?"

"I know this sounds crazy. I _feel_ crazy!" He let his head drop back and it hit the headboard with a loud thunk. He didn't notice. He lifted his head and his sincere gaze tried to pierce her logic. "But I also think this could be how we get Dean out of his deal. I could _save_ Dean with Ruby's help. She knows how to kill demons permanently. I've seen her do it."

"You've been… _hunting _with her?"

And Gods, that was definitely hurt searing her chest like heartburn after a heavy meal. After what a demon had done to her just to play with Sam's heartstrings, he was _hunting with one_?

"No." Sam shook his head vehemently when he saw her face. He reached out to touch her chin again, but she pulled away, hands retracting to her lap, and looked at the far wall and her collection of Hogwarts photographs. She slowly unclenched her jaw as she watched the figures move about in their frames. Dennis Creevey had given those photos to her out of his big brother's collection. She had offered to buy them, but he only shook his head.

Brothers, she thought. The things they did without one, or when they knew they would lose one.

"I want to help Dean," Hermione said quietly. Sam opened his mouth, but she raised her hand and he quieted.

"I do," she said. "But I'm doing it my way. You do it your way. But I won't support you, not in this. I'm sure Dean would agree with me if he knew what you were doing in his name. I'm assuming you wanted my support before you told him." His lips tightened, and she knew she was correct.

"Hermione," Sam said. "There's something else."

She didn't return his gaze. "Yes?"

"Ruby told me something. Something about your species?"

"Species?" she blurted, head snapping to face him. "Am I'm not _human _to you?"

"No, no! I didn't—" He let out a large breath. "I misspoke. But Ruby told me something about your kind that I'm not sure if you know or not."

She stood up and grabbed her top off the floor. Jerking it over her head, she immediately felt more comfortable, more _able _to be mad at him. She folded her arms and waited as Sam looked on, uncertain but courageously determined to continue.

"What could she possibly know about my _species_?" she said, and to her horror she sounded as stiff as Lucius Malfoy.

Looking as if he wished he hadn't begun this conversation, Sam said, "You're related to demons. Like I am. You have demon blood."

"Rubbish." Hermione laughed—now she sounded as resentful and mean as Sirius. She pushed gentleness into her voice, but couldn't control the anger behind her eyes. "It's not true, Sam. I'm Muggleborn. That means that all of my ancestors are ordinary humans like Dean and like you—yes, _you_ are normal," she said, to his surprise, "a little extraordinary, but it's not in your DNA as it is mine. That's artificial powers. Ruby and I are two very different species."

"Stop saying that!" Sam rolled out of the bed and faced her across the mattress. "Stop calling yourself a different species. I _misspoke_, Hermione! I wish I had kept my mouth shut. Ruby's wrong! Fine. I just thought we could discuss this like intelligent adults—"

"Me too," Hermione said quietly. She felt like she could turn a switch and her eyes would shoot flames out of them, but she stayed quiet. Forced calm, while inside the forest fire roared and seared. "I'm not a species, Sam. I'm not a kind. I'm human. I'm a witch. They are not two disparate organisms."

"I _said_ I—"

"But it has you thinking, doesn't it?" she said, still quiet, still raging underneath her skin. "Doubting. And it has me very fucking angry, doesn't it? I think this was what it meant to do all along."

His fists clenched. Unclenched. He breathed a deep breath, watching her watch him, and she wondered at how _she _looked while she calmed down. Not as sincere, she knew.

"Hermione, may I speak?"

And he was calm now, too, and Hermione couldn't tell if it was a forced calm like hers, if passion ran through his veins. She glimpsed regret like cold ash in her mouth, but then he was all gentleness and empathy.

He said, "If I can prove to you that this isn't some demonic strategy, will you help us find Lilith? I know you have spells like that one you used to find the vampires' nest."

Hermione stared at him, his hopeful face, and wondered if she could ever get past this fight. She could, she decided, as long as she spackled the cracks and poured a ton of concrete over the foundation. _Us,_ she noticed. _Species. Kind._

_He thinks he's part demon._

She could get over this, but the foundation would always be cracked.

She turned and walked to her dresser. "Let me get dressed and I'll bring you back to Bobby's."

"Hermione…" His voice was unbearably gentle.

Back to him, she closed her eyes. "I can't support this. I'll help Dean, like I said, but it'll be on my terms. We're just going to have to go our separate ways on this matter because there's no proving it to me."

"Okay," he said softly, moving closer. He put his hands on her shoulders. Her mind urged her to shrug him off. She couldn't. When she didn't pull away, he leaned down and pressed a kiss against the crown of her head. He didn't pull away immediately, but spoke into her hair.

"I am listening to you, you know. I do think she could be playing me—it's a big possibility, actually. But I have to put myself out there. Dean's done it for me. He'd probably sell his soul again tomorrow if something happened to me."

"It's his choice," Hermione said, and _god_, her voice cracked. But Sam saw Dean's actions as something he could change, when it was not. You couldn't change the ocean to suit your needs. You could push and swim all you liked—it would still take you under, crush you against the rocks. Sam was used to miracles. Hermione knew that behind those miracles, Death lived. Death was everywhere.

"You're belittling his sacrifice, Sam, putting yourself into danger like this."

She knew Dean. She knew what he wanted with all the long looks he had been giving her lately. He wanted Sam to live away from the hunter's life. _Have _a life. Dean understood—and unfortunately Hermione understood, too—that Sam would never leave the life if Dean was alive. Dean couldn't help himself; he needed his brother with him. He would always drag him to the next hunt and the next.

And when Dean looked at Hermione, Hermione looked back. She knew what he wanted. She understood sacrifice; after all, she saw it every day in Harry's eyes.

Remembered it in Harry's lifeless face.

"No," Sam replied. "I'm honoring his sacrifice."

That night, as Teddy watched television and Hermione wrote a return letter to Headmistress McGonagall, she had to take a moment to get past a ghostly heartache. As dizzy as if she were on a broom being chased by a dragon, she closed her eyes.

Let there be a miracle, she thought. Just one more.

Stop these sacrifices.

_fin._


End file.
